Dirty Job
by LadyVaderWrites
Summary: Written preDH: Draco's angry that Harry has missed their lunch date and perhaps their only chance to be together - chaos at Harry's workplace ensues. Warnings: Cheese, OOCnes & Mature Adult Content *coughsmutcough* ;P I hope you enjoy it anyway!


Dirty Job:

Dedication: For my poor darling Angel, who's having a series of REALLY crappy workdays. 

When Draco Malfoy had decided to quit the Death Eaters (following a horrific display of inelegant stupidity by their so-called 'Leader') he hadn't, he grudgingly conceded, given it any real depth of actual thought. Therefore, upon stumbling through pure chance into the middle of a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, he supposed he had rather deserved the somewhat less than cordial reception he received.

"DEATH EATER SCUM!"

"GET HIM!"

"HIT HIM!"

"HEX HIM!"

"COVER HIM IN JAM AND THEN FEED HIM TO THE ANTS!"

It turned out that Granger had been nurturing her resentment as well as a deeply frightening sadistic nature.

Dumbledore, wise being that he was, had then strolled into the midst of the rumpus, promptly placed Draco in a full body-bind and restored order to the... well, Order. After a few long hours with an itch below his nose that no amount of face pulling would remedy, Draco gave in and told them everything he knew. He had tried several times before then, that being his general plan, but they'd hexed him silent and mostly ignored him throughout their own tea of crumpets and cocoa, casting cruel glances his way when his stomach groaned piteously.

After a few more of these disgusting belly rumblings, the Order acquiesced and partially unbound Draco, allowing him to sit in a corner sipping lukewarm tea and nibbling on stale crumpets while the Order all glared at him from the other side of the room. Draco had decided then to be on his best behaviour to try and win his hopefully soon to be compatriots around.

"I say," he declared jovially, "I really hate Potter, but if it'll stop me ending up on the nasty end of a Cruciatious curse then I guess I'm willing to kiss his arse. After all the Weasel's been doing it for years and no one's killed him yet."

It was at that moment Draco came to realise that maybe, just maybe, Dumbledore might have spiked his tea with veritaserum.

The questions came thick and fast from that point onwards.

"Why do you want out?"

"What's your favourite colour?"

"Do these robes make my bum look big?"

"On a scale of one to one hundred, how would you score yourself if asked how prone to masturbation over material of a homoerotic genre you are?"

Glaring at Snape for the latter, Draco had answered their questions as best he could, shuddering when forced to retell stories of Death Eaters orgies involving sheep and the odd goat until finally it happened - the Order (grudgingly) accepted him.

Having realised that Draco did indeed wish to return to the side of light, Dumbledore had announced that Draco was to be taken into the care of the Order and watched like a hawk in case the sneaky, slimy little git tried anything. Evidently, Dumbledore had also spiked his own tea by mistake.

He was watched like a hawk, or rather a small scruffy sparrow, by none other than the Boy Who Lived himself up to a point where Draco decided that secretly the Gryffindor was enjoying himself, ignoring the fact that heartfelt wearied sighs accompanied their every interaction and the fact that the brunet was constantly cracking his knuckles as he stared at him.

Over time, he found himself almost enjoying his sojourn at Grimmauld Place, reading texts formerly forbidden to him by his father (now current lapdog and occasional chew toy to the Dark Lord) due their questionable or socially incorrect content.

He could still remember the day the war truly began, he'd just picked up _Bridget Jones' Diary_ for an umpteenth reread when Potter had burst into the room, white as a sheet and twice as rumpled.

"It's now," he'd blurted, earning a quirked eyebrow in reply, but despite his clumsy phrasing, Potter had been correct. It had been now, here, now, immediately.

The war had swept the wizarding world in a blur of grim determination into chaos and Draco, for his part, was as chaotic as the situation demanded, a strong survival instinct kicking in (fashionably late, he'd later say) halfway through a battle for Hogwarts. As Death Eaters had stormed the battlements, his name a shriek of abuse and condemnation on the lips of his former contemporaries as hex after hex whizzed past him and, surprising a concerned Potter, he'd laughed, hard and cold and suddenly it had been 'now' for him, too.

He wasn't at the battle where his father was killed. That was the final battle, he'd been injured long before and amongst a crowd including nearly all the Weasley's, Longbottom and a good few members of the faculty, he'd waited, hoping desperately for an outcome, any outcome, ridiculous as it wanted, if it meant he could both live and be free without having to live with the loss, a loss he knew was coming, looming almost.

His father died at Voldemort's hands. In the final moments where it became clear that Dumbledore had no intention of allowing his 'eccentricities' to prevent the thorough destruction of his one overwhelming mistake, Lucius Malfoy (perhaps just that touch too late to be fashionable) had realised he'd chosen the losing side. He cursed two Death Eaters dead where they stood, saving the life of Severus Snape, and was promptly executed by his former Lord and Master.

Draco tried not to think about it, but on the rare occasions that he did, his predominant wish was that he'd been there to watch Potter shove his wand through Voldemort's eye and into his skull.

His mother was exiled, no real loss to the Slytherin as he'd perhaps spent an entirety of a few months in her company during the first 17 years of his life, but he felt the loss of his father keenly, so much indeed that he let himself be coddled and babied by the Weasley's for at least three months until which time Snape had enquired politely at what time he would be dying his hair red.

He moved out a week later.

And that was that, or so he thought. The war was over. The good guys won, there were casualties, but not as many as feared and slowly but surely, the world righted itself and started spinning anew.

But some things never change.

"I'm sorry, Mister Malfoy, it's not that you aren't recognised for your efforts on behalf of the Wizarding world but..."

But.

There was _always_ a but.

Snape had redeemed himself, a former Death Eater who spent over twenty years teaching the children destined to break free of the Dark Lord's hold, who endangered his own life every single day acting as a spy for none other than Professor Albus Dumbledore himself.

Draco was an indecisive child who just happened to choose the right side in the end.

The first few years after his rather uneventful graduation from Hogwarts saw Draco constantly monitored, questioned every other week, his inheritance frozen until such time as the Ministry felt him worthy of such great wealth and power as the Malfoy name granted.

This, obviously, was grossly unfair. Draco had nowhere to live, no money and no good reputation to fall back on. He was as poor and insignificant as he'd always insisted the Weasley's were and, quite frankly, it was unacceptable.

Luckily for Draco, Dumbledore felt precisely the same way.

After watching Draco sequestered and scorned, occasionally imprisoned and almost always ignored, the Headmaster hatched upon a plan to make Draco worthy of polite society again. A clean slate, he decided, was precisely what the young man required.

But (that word again) to begin with, Dumbledore failed to judge just how blackened the Malfoy name had become and, despite being taken under the wing of and trained by Severus Snape, the Ministry just sneered, muttering about Slytherins, hidden agendas and the blind favouritism of the Former Death Eater.

It would take someone with a reputation so perfect, so 'squeaky-clean' (as Severus had baldly put it) to wash away the stain of the dark mark across the Malfoy heritage.

Harry bloody Potter.

After the war, Potter had decided he'd had quite enough of heroism, fame and fan girls prepared to chase him down the street. He graduated, with better results than expected, spent a few months visiting friends scattered here and there by the war, made a polite statement to the papers to leave him the hell alone and promptly dropped off the face of the planet. Or more accurately, he moved away.

He spent several years going from pointlessly mundane job to mundane job, sinking himself into the joy of being 'nobody'. He tried being a chef (which he liked, but was too competitive), he worked in a bookshop (which made him constantly sleepy), he tried being a double-glazing salesman (but found himself unclogging old dears drainpipes and making no sales) before settling into a tedious desk job that Draco despised, loathed and hated concurrently.

But Potter, odd as it was, seemed to like it. Draco was never sure precisely what it was that the Gryffindor did in his little office space in the always too hot building and Potter seemed constantly overwhelmed by the bleeping of the large glowing com-pu-ter on his desk but, when asked, Potter always just shrugged and said it 'worked' for him right now.

Potter, of course, despite his sudden exit from polite wizarding society, could not have been more perfect to be Draco's 'mentor', a success between the two of them being more than enough to topple the Ministry's doubts in light of their old rivalry being so conquered.

The only glitch in this wondrous idea came from the Boy Who Lived himself.

"No," he'd said firmly when abruptly approached by Lupin, Snape and Draco in the centre of muggle London, "NO, no. Hell no."

Draco had been twenty-one then, it had taken them till barely a month before his twenty-third to convince him.

"Don't you get it?" The Gryffindor had suddenly spat at his uninvited guests, the dust from the floo still hovering in Potter's living room, "I _like_ my normal life, I'm DONE with magic for now, I just want to be normal for a while. Live to just be ME without everyone watching to see what I'll do next and..."

Draco had remained silent, as he generally did during their visits to the reluctant hero, but now he met the Gryffindor's gaze steadily, watching the ruddy colour of anger seep from his cheeks.

"And I'd be the world's worst bastard if I denied you the chance for the same," Potter concluded wearily, shoulders slumped in defeat, "What do you want me to do with him?"

What they had wanted, but not told Draco, was for Harry to help Draco do precisely what he himself had done. Draco could have a flat in wizarding London, but he had to work as a muggle, conferring with Harry each day as to what he'd learned about the muggle world in order to prove that he was in no way biased against the _magically-retarded_.

Draco hated it, HATED it with a passion that never ceased to amuse his 'mentor'. He hated getting up early, he hated flooing straight to Potter's flat in order to go to work with him the 'muggle' way. Draco hated buses. Draco hated trains and bikes and cars and everything that wasn't as clean or easy as a broom or apparating. The only thing Draco didn't hate was his job.

Potter, smart alec that he apparently had been keeping from everyone, recalled Draco's love of books and got him a job in the bookshop he'd previously worked in. It was run by a crazy old lady called Marlene who had such an aversion to _new fangled stuff_ that she still used the till her father had back in the thirties, giving Draco a fairly easy start to his apprenticeship as a muggle.

That had been nearly an entire year ago. One whole year of early morning buses, book keeping, soggy stale sandwiches from corner shops for lunch and customers who _never_ knew what they were looking for, but would stay to tell you their life history if you so much as smiled at them.

Slowly (very slowly in some cases) Draco came to realise he didn't always hate it. In fact, a lot of the time he felt... happy. It made him nervous to think it, he would never say it aloud, but somehow the routine of having something to do without threat of impending doom and people who liked you made all the horrid nasty things fade into insignificance. Draco didn't hate his life, but that didn't mean that he wanted to keep it once his year's probation as Potter's charge was up, but he knew that a part of him, hidden beneath miles of disdain and breeding, would sorely miss it.

He had met Potter for lunch at least every other day for a year, confiding his troubles with the muggle monetary system or just laughing over the state of Potter's tie, but now, as he stood impatiently in the reception area of Potter's building, it was their last lunch and he was furious.

He'd been stood up.

Not once in a year had he failed to keep his appointment with Potter and on the day it really mattered, the sodding scarred git didn't show.

Draco bit his lip. Usually he'd have to be back by one thirty but as his last day had been the day before, he had the whole day free, but were Potter to show up even now, they'd only have twenty minutes before he have to get back to his desk.

Were Draco honest with himself (which he preferred generally not to be unless near a mirror) then he'd admit that there was one more thing he'd miss, another thing he'd learned not to hate.

His teeth stung in the tender flesh of his lower lip as fury rose in the Slytherin. As of tomorrow he was free, all Potter had to do was sign the pre-prepared certificate vouching for one Draco Cicero Malfoy and that was it. That was it... And just one last prearranged lunch between the two, but really was it so much to ask?

Draco fumed. And to think he'd been even _remotely_ considering... he shook his head and cast a venomous glance towards the front desk. Very well, he decided, if Potter wouldn't come to him, he'd go to Potter if only to show him what good manners and breeding were.

And possibly to throw something at him for being an insensitive bastard.

Ignoring the pathetic bleats of the blonde at the reception desk, Draco marched straight to the lift and punched in Harry's floor with a barely steady finger.

He let his rage simmer as he rode the car upwards, let it boil as he stepped out and began his stalk down the corridor to Potter's cramped mid-floor office, let it course through him in white hot rivers as he pushed the door wide and...

"Potter?"

A silky black mop of hair lifted itself from the desktop, pale face pinched with stress as he squinted over smudged glasses to stare blankly at Draco.

"Malfoy? Hey... gimme a sec, I just... umm... No wait, I mean..." he lapsed off as the phone began squealing in its rest, the wince that ran through the Gryffindor's hunched form indicative of its having done so frequently that day.

"Potter," Draco said stonily, determined to not be affected by the heavy slope of Potter's shoulders, "Lunch?"

"Yeah, uh huh, sure thing, gimme two tics, ok?" He reached for the phone.

"No, Potter. You _missed_ lunch."

Potter blinked, suddenly rummaging through his shirt pocket to squint at the watch face he produced from it. By the way he held it to the light Draco ascertained that the face had shattered.

"Shit." It was mumbled by both the lowered tone and the hand thrust wearily back and forth over his face, "I'm, I'm sorry, Malfoy, I just..." He dropped his hands and looked the still irritated Slytherin straight in the eye, voice oddly tremulous as he stated, "It's been a HELL of a day."

Draco nodded, cursing the urge to brush the wayward tuft of hair from Potter's forehead, instead straightening his back and smiling coolly. "Well, I guess we can dispense with today's meeting anyway, I think all that needed to be said or done is all taken care of. Take care, Potter."

He bowed slightly, unable to think why he had done so, but wanting to somehow break Potter's eye contact before turning away, desperate to keep the regret from showing through.

"Ahhh, Mister Molly... here again are you?"

Draco barely restrained a snarl and felt more than heard Potter move further into the room.

"As you see... Stephanie, was it?" the Slytherin spoke between clenched teeth, the older woman smiling at him as though he were a speck on her vulgarly designed shoe, having mangled his name on more than one occasion.

"What can I do for you, Stephanie?" Potter's voice, heavy with fatigue behind him and Draco bit back a scathing request of what Potter _might_ do for her had he his wand present as he watched Stephanie's piggy eyes squinting with heavy handed condescension, smile brittle with false joviality.

"Why I just thought I'd stop by to make sure you'd not forgotten to do the extra files I dropped by for you... I can take them back and do them myself if you'd rather? I mean, you _do_ have company...?"

Her pinched aged face seemed aglow with barely concealed malice and Draco itched to slap her, or better yet, feed her an active chainsaw, but Potter's stiff tone cut past her meddling, interfering smug smile.

"No. Thank you, Stephanie, I told you earlier, I am _quite_ alright by myself and Mister 'Malfoy' will be leaving in just a second."

Stephanie sniffed haughtily, "Well I should hope so, lunch break is over after all."

Reeling from her cloud of cloying perfume, best suited to a woman thirty years her junior, Draco turned slowly back to face Harry.

"Well," he said, rigid with his desire to be asked to stay and his immense yearning to leave and not look back, "I'll let you get on, then shall I? Wouldn't want to get you in trouble with that old harpy."

Potter's sudden bark of harsh laughter surprised Draco only slightly less than what appeared to be the spring of tears into the brunet's eyes.

"Fuck her, she's been on my back all day and the computers crashed and Terry never showed up so I got his workload as well as Sam's and I just... she won't leave me alone for two sodding minutes to get anything done and I..." his voice trembled and, silent with shock, Draco swallowed hard as Potter placed a hand on each of Draco's shoulders, eyes locked as his smile twisted awfully. "I've fucked up, haven't I?" the brunet murmured harshly, "Your fucking last day and I'm so distracted I..." He swallowed painfully and Draco's heart shivered and pulsed hard within its confines as Harry's right hand slid up to cup his jaw line. "I'm... I'm sorry, " Harry whispered, "This wasn't how I wanted to say goodbye at all..."

Draco wet his lips with a sudden burst of hope, drinking in the sorrow and regret in Potter's eyes.

"Harry," he murmured, leaning into the touch and...

"Oh and, Harry I... oh, Mister Molfrey, STILL here? Mister Peterson is coming Harry and if he asks me why the reports aren't completed I shall not be lying to Mister Peterson, I'll have to tell him you were too _busy_ with your little friends to..."

"Stephanie?" Draco cut her off as Harry backed away from him, pale and stony faced, the Slytherin turning to arch the Malfoy Eyebrow at the quivering mass of interfering old bat. "Go Fuck Yourself," he demanded coolly, "Or go fuck Mister Peterson. I don't give a shit. Just do me a favour and take your patronising old arse and fuck the hell off, ok?" And with that immortal phrase, he rudely shoved the squawking harpy back out the door.

Harry, whiter still now, gaped in horror, "Oh my god, Malfoy, please tell me you did not just do what I thi...mmmppphhh!"

Draco kissed him hard, putting every ounce of longing he had into cupping Harry's face in both hands, imprisoning him so that he might further plunder his mouth, letting his emotions wash through him and into the kiss, smiling slightly as the brunet sagged, whimpering, against him.

A torrent of ideas poured through Draco's mind whilst he kept his mouth solidly pressed to Potter's now unresisting lips, body shuddering yet compliant as he leaned into the blond.

His decision made, Draco drew back carefully, watching the emotions race across Harry's expressive features.

"What... I, oh... you kissed me?" he stammered softly, biting into his now damp and plump lower lip in consternation.

"Tell me you don't want it and I won't kiss you again," Draco stated calmly, heart ricocheting off his ribs.

Harry gulped and blushed endearingly, a smile then tugging at Draco's lips even as he lowered his mouth to press it softly against the breathless brunet's own gradually parting lips, the barest hint of Potter's tongue pushing back at Draco's when...

"..."

Harry shot backwards out of Draco's hold with a fearful glance towards the now shrilly pealing phone atop his desk.

"Awww fuck," he cried succinctly, "That _has_ to be Mr. Peterson, I bet that bloody bag went straight to him, I'm..." He paused suddenly, face losing its kiss flushed colour abruptly. "I'm _so_ fired," he murmured hollowly.

Draco smiled. "Good," he purred with (by force of habit alone) a distinct undertone of spite.

Harry's eyes filled with alarm as the Slytherin pushed him roughly out of the way, yanking the cord from the phone and effectively silencing the room once more.

"Draco... I... what... you _want_ me to lose my job?" Hurt shone piercingly from the green pools fixed on Draco's approaching form. "Why're you doing this? I said I was sorry I missed our lunch and..."

"And you also said that it wasn't how you planned to say goodbye. I simply came up with a new plan."

He drew the freshly resistant Gryffindor close again, dipping his mouth to press it close against Harry's ear, letting his breath ghost over the sensitive dips and grooves as he murmured the new plan to him.

"Let's not say goodbye at all."

Harry's voice was an overcome whisper just over his shoulder, bemusement and stress evident in every syllable, "I don't understand."

"Come with me, _be_ with me." The words were dragged along the sleek lines of Potter's jaw and then up to press into his temple. "You're not happy here, let me make you happy, Potter..."

A door slammed, hard, somewhere down the corridor but Potter didn't even flinch as he lifted his head, tilting it to look Draco directly in the eye.

"I _was_ happy here..." he said gently, accusingly and Draco's resolve faltered and crashed to a halt in his chest, breath rushing from him in a great relieved rush as Harry pressed his mouth against his, words mingling with his breath, "Then our time ran out... you were going."

"You should have asked me to stay."

"I couldn't, you wanted your inheritance, your rightful place in the magic world so badly..."

"And you want your normal life." It was dully uttered, words like weights on Draco's lips as it occurred to him that Harry might _want_ to stay where he was.

"I did." A soft tongue swept across the pulled down corners of Draco's mouth, sparking hope anew, "And you know what?" He sucked gently at the tip of Draco's tongue before pulling back to look meaningfully into Draco's searching silver gaze. "Fuck normalcy."

A delighted laugh bubbled up in Draco's chest, but was squashed down by the surge of lust that rocketed up from his toes and coursed past his lips into Harry's now hungry and demanding mouth.

"Not... mmmm, _quite_ how I saw this going, Potter, but ahhh, yeah..."

Harry ceased his sudden biting at Draco's throat to waggle his eyebrows, "Oh you've pictured this have you? Sweeping into my office and seducing me?"

Draco snorted, lapping idly at the soft skin of Harry's nape as the Gryffindor turned to grab his jacket, "I'm shocked at you, Potter, you think _this_ is seduction? My, my... to think of the different ways I could have seduced and corrupted you in this pathetic tiny room of yours, sad really."

Potter's spine drew tight against Draco's chest then, pushing his body further back into the cradle of Draco's body as he let the stiff material of his suit jacket tumble from his fingers.

"There's still time," he whispered and Draco knew then _exactly_ why it was he couldn't let Potter go.

Chuckling gently, Draco pushed one hand from where it'd rested on Potter's hip to slide up across his sternum to close gently round his throat, arm braced across his chest as his other hand slipped down, pressing, the heel of his hand pushing deftly at the sudden ridge of want he found there.

"What do you want to bet Stephanie's listening right outside?" Draco murmured into Harry's ear, relishing the shudder that ran throughout the supple form. "Let's really give her something to eavesdrop, hmm?" And with that he released his hold on the brunet before spinning him, backing him against the door in such a flurry of motion that it knocked the breath from them both as they hit the door, Draco covering Harry's body with his own, lips already claiming as a startled squawk from the corridor was heard.

He'd only meant to shock her, perhaps stop to suck Harry off, give them something to remember him by, Draco already entranced by the notion of what Harry's hips might sound like colliding with the door, pistoning in and out his mouth, but he rather imagined that dear sweet Stephanie might have already made a run for the boss man giving them a sudden, if not hurried, window of opportunity.

"I'll give you two options, Potter," he muttered as he wrestled with the brunet's belt, "One: you can be fired from this dead-end job for the crime of being hassled by an interfering old bitch and leave with your tail between your legs. Two: You can be fired for having me between your legs, right here, right now and for getting fucked against company property while the aforementioned bitch dies of horror and/or jealousy."

Harry's eyes glazed over directly after the mention of Draco between his legs, hands dropping to help pull and free his fly and belt from their usual positions. "Option 2," he gasped, leaning forward to lick Draco's face with more enthusiasm than desire to tantalise, "Right here, right now."

"Good choice," Draco grunted, pushing Harry's trousers, boxers, shoes and hands out of the way before helping to kick the offending items away, hands cupping the perfect globes of Potter's ass appreciatively. "Hold on tight," he ordered, before promptly heaving the slightly smaller man up to wrap his legs about Draco's waist, arms about his shoulders and clinging even as Draco moved a hand closer, yanking briefly, if teasingly, at the Gryffindor's bobbing, dripping cock before probing demandingly for and finding the small entrance to Potter's body.

"Harry! Harry Potter, I know you're still in there and that Mister Monfrit, too, and I've told Mister Stevenson and he's just finishing up his lunch and then he's coming straight down here seeing as you're not answering your phone now and..."

"Stephanie, will you just FUCK OFF ALREADY... I uuurrrgggggghhhhhh FUCK yeah!"

Harry's brief dismissal of his now horrified co-worker was cut short as Draco thrust a finger into his body, pulling it back roughly to shove another in beside it in the next breath.

"Not too tight, Potter," he murmured appreciatively, "Not a virgin, not a slut, but uhh just right... what've you been using, you little slut? Plug? Dildo? Did you use your own hand... were you thinking about me?"

"Yes!" Harry cried, bucking wildly against the now spread invasive digits inside him, "Yes, god yes, all of those, all and it was always you... you, Malfoy... god, you, you, you..."

Moaning hard as Harry rode his fingers hard, Draco pressed his hips harder into the mewling brunet, bracing their weight on his thighs as he pulled free his other hand, first freeing his own bobbing, neglected erection and then spitting liberally (and with some haste) into his palm before spreading the hot liquid up and down his length.

Bracing his hand back under Potter's buttocks and withdrawing his fingers with a brutal twist, he pressed a hot, deep kiss against the gasping mouth beneath him. "You want this? Want me to fuck you here against your own office door where everyone can hear me put my cock in you?"

His fingers stole down to push and brace his cockhead against the hot, tight opening, Potter's wild cries muffled against his throat as he dipped his head and begged, hoarsely, for anything, please god anything if Draco would just fuck him.

"Hope you're listening, Stephanie," he grunted and then thrust hard into Potter's warm, willing body, slamming him back against the door as his entire length pushed its way into the resisting passage, Potter's howl punctuated by the clunk of bone on wood as he threw his head back, also colliding with the door as Draco began to thrust in earnest.

"Ahhh fuck YEAH, DRACO!"

An equally loud blow fell on the other side of the door and a strident, nasal tone broke through, "Mister Potter? Mister Potter, I demand you open this door, your behaviour is unbelievable and I fail to see how you possibly think you could get away with treating a fellow staff member..."

Draco sped up his thrusts, delighting in Harry's increasingly loud mewls of pleasure as their bodies slammed against the wood, pleasure already boiling too low, too quickly in his belly.

"Tell them, Harry," he whispered past the whimpers into Harry's mouth, "let them hear how much you like it when I'm fucking you."

Harry's eyes went wide, but before he could reply, a voice so irritating as to be inconceivable joined the tirade from without.

"He's got a man in there with him, Mister Stevenson, a visitor without a pass or clearance and.. and... I think they're... they're... they are acting in a way not appropriate for a working environment, Sir."

"WHAT SHE MEANS, SIR," Harry bellowed, panting and writhing atop Draco's now frenetic thrusts, "IS THAT I HAVE A MAN IN HERE WHO IS CURRENTLY FUCKING ME INTO THE DOOR BEFORE YOU AND I WOULD GREATLY APPRECIATE IT IF... OH, OHHH, OHHH FUCK YEAH DRACO... Christ, oh, oh god your cock... fuck YEAH... I... FOR CHRISTS SAKE, WOULD YOU JUST PISS OFF? YOU CAN FIRE ME WHEN I'M DONE RIDING HIS COCK... NOW FUCK OFF!"

Silence fell outside the door, all listening in shock as the bangs against the door picked up speed and two voices could now be heard crying out in pleasure as the noises suddenly stopped and then...

"Fuck YES, DRACO!"

"Potter, oh GODS YES!"

Draco slumped, unable to bear both their weight any longer, thigh muscles trembling with strain as they slid down Potter's door to lean heavily against it on the floor.

"Did... did, I...just... tell... My boss... to come back... When... I'm... done... riding... your... cock," Harry gasped between kisses and desperate gulps for breath.

"Think... so... yeah," Draco panted back.

"Ok."

They lay awhile in silence, waiting for the mob outside to react, unknowing that they'd all crept away to wait out their blushes and surging hormones.

"Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"What precisely did I teach you in this past year that made it allowable for you to get me fired by fucking me?"

Draco laughed, "Nothing I didn't already know, Potter. Can we go now; I've got a million things to do before tomorrow's Pardoning Ceremony."

Harry leaned up and kissed the slyly smiling blond. "Do any of those things involve you, me and any door we might happen upon?"

"I'd say there's a strong possibility."

Laughing, they both stood up on shaking legs to adjust clothing and wipe away excess bodily fluids when suddenly Harry grinned, pausing in his gathering of his affects.

"So... now when they ask me tomorrow what valuable things you've learned from your time with me and subsequent occupation, I'm to say that you learned book-keeping, how to make pot noodles and that if someone's having a bad day the best remedy is to fuck them blind?"

"Hey," Draco said, grinning as he leaned in to lick the corner of Harry's mouth, "It's a dirty job..."

fin.


End file.
